Jokes on You
by Darkaus
Summary: Gotham is recovering from a viral outbreak shortly after the events of TDK. C.Gordon lost contact with Batman in the confusion; he fears something's happened to him. Now no one in Gotham will help Gordon find the vigilante, save the man he put away. Joker
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** I do not make any money from writing this, I only do it for entertainment purposes. (making money would be nice, but it's not going to happen and I'm good with that.) This plot bunny hopped aroung in my head a few days and finaly I had to act on it. Suggestions and/or comments are appreciated because yes! I do want to know what you think! I have no cookies to offer, but I hope you enjoy this reguardless. Allright! Lets get started.

* * *

_"Because madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little--push!"_ Joker, The Dark Knight

**Jokes on You**

_Introduction_

The skyscrapers reflected the arching lightning as it sliced the sky, thunder rolled on across the expanse. Most windows were dark, the hour late, the city struggling to find it in herself to sleep. Winding between the mammoth structures the concrete streets became rivers and tributaries, the sewers struggled to accommodate the flow.

Cabs moved slowly back and forth over the pavement, leaving ripples in their wakes.

Further in—and--further in, the streets narrowed to the older and less pristine parts of town. Faded brick buildings stood like tombstones, one after the other. No light reached here from the scrapers, and shutters were drawn and bared. The storm cared nothing for these differences; here it fell just as hard. The noise of the downpour isolated the world and wrapped in it layer after layer of stinging rain.

Through the rumble of the thunder another noise cut, distant, faint. It drew closer and gained strength, the growl of a high power engine and the splattering of water as it plowed its way over submerging streets fought the thunder for dominance of the scene. It came into view between the alleys, skirting around a tight corner and sending water cascading everywhere. A high power motorcycle with a lone, dark rider, it roared triumphantly through the small space and back onto the road.

The rider gripped the bars hard; he shivered under his armor and cape. It was a sideways slanting rain, and it was making its way into his suit and to his skin. Distantly he considered what another man, Alfred, would have to say to him about this misadventure later. That warmed his spirits, if not his body. Kohl rimmed eyes looked out at the slums from a distinctive black mask. The area was still the outskirts of the narrows; he needed to be further in. Batman revved the motor and continued onward.

The building grew closer and closer together, like teeth in a tiger's maw. He hadn't been to these streets as often recently as he had in the past. Too well he remembered, as buildings whizzed by, that night when Crane had released the end results of his research here and the chaos that ensued in the wake of it. That had been a close shave in many regards. That had paved the way for other things…

For Him.

He was in Arkham, for now. Batman was not optimistic that he'd remain there for long. Still his mind whispered to him, re-assured him, voiced many important points of consideration regarding the high security of the structure, the technology, the guards, that the Joker would probably be kept restrained at all times. Escape should be impossible. His mind told him this. His mind was trying to kill him.

Every nerve knew better, he could feel it under his skin. Nothing would keep the Joker off the streets for long, and he would have to be there, he would have to play the madman's game again. There would be more Rachels… His knuckles under the gloves were white with strain; and there might be more Harveys. 

Batman shook it off, pushed that though deep back into his mind so far that it almost brushed against a cold concrete street; a street covered in priceless pears from a necklace that would never be repaired. He had to focus on the here and now for now; this was not a typical night out on the slum side.

This was the end of a marathon.

In the week preceding tonight a bio virus had made its way onto the streets, an accident at one of their own medical labs. It was contracted by the people in the neighborhood around the building, and spread to the predators of that neighborhood through their prey. Cutthroats, thieves, gang members and pimps with their prostitutes contracted it though encountering or stealing from their clientele. It made its way into the narrows, and spread like wildfire. Within two days all of Gotham was at risk. There'd never been a lockdown like the one still imposed in all of Gothams history.

From the curse came a blessing, the lab had enough data on the virus that it was relatively simple to produce a vaccine and a medication to ease the symptoms of sufferers so that they became treatable. In a four day operation all of Gotham was vaccinated or treated by those immune through vaccination. They had dodged the bullet of a full scale epidemic by hours.

Though most of the city was now safe, the Narrows proved a problem. The area was the virus's official ground zero, and the people who lived there needed desperate attention. Many had come forward willingly but many others hadn't for fear of jail time, or worse. And as long as there were still infected persons in Gotham there was the potential that the virus could break out again in surrounding rural areas, or another city not yet prepared for it. This was a matter that couldn't be considered done until it was done completely.

This was Batman's third night out in the Narrows, the first night there hadn't been people needing his help near the outskirts. Tonight he would go in deep, and hopefully wipe the virus from the area.

The rain was slowing, the storm begrudgingly returning the skies to the moon it stole them from. Footsteps making a splash as he moved Batman set off on foot, moving from building to building, looking for signs of habitation.

He found it here and there; some were desperately in need of care. He sent out co-ordinates for ambulance rescue to Gordon and administered the first dose of medication to the victims. He reported the dead he came across as well. There were more than a few.

There was nothing more he could do for them, maybe nothing he could have done even if he'd reached them sooner. Some people were more prone to the virus than others; some just weren't strong enough to fight it off, even with proper care. Those who were already sickly, those who lived on the streets… they were gone before you realized they'd taken ill. This sight of dead and dying was not as unfamiliar as he'd have liked. The virus had come too soon after the Joker's rampage; Gotham just hadn't been ready. He hadn't been ready.

A low sigh… Batman held his cape to him to keep out a bit of the chill. His electronic compass and guide map confirmed he'd covered the last leg of his trip. The area was as clean as it could be. It was done.

(Now to get back to the wheel before the police arrive with paramedics, opening fire here will complicate this mess.) He turned his shadow northward; the moon cast it out far ahead of him, giving it a devilish countenance. (Rains stopped. The drive back will be easier… I might be rowing to Wayne enterprises tomorrow though. It smells like the sewers are backing up.)

Something moved just beyond his sight, jerked in the shadows. Batman paused, watched, intent on spotting it if it moved again. It did, bobbing like a figure walking away from him. As the form moved between two buildings the moon caught it and displayed it like a catch, small, lean, face gaunt and eyes hard. A boy of at most fourteen years. Batman moved forward; he hadn't seen the boy earlier, he might still need treatment.

"Hold on a moment."

The boy froze, he jerked his head to look at the voice. Watery blue eyes grew huge in the drawn face… the teenager bolted.

"Wait! I'm not going to hurt you!" Batman pursued.

They raced down flooded streets as the sounds of sirens grew louder in the distance. Batman was fast, but the boy new the area far better, and the gap between them wasn't getting any smaller. The dark knight considered using an item from his utility belt to stop the boy, but with slippery ground he couldn't be sure that he would miss him. He needed different tools for a situation like this, and they weren't available. Distantly he considered chasing the boy towards the sirens. It would look terrible for himself, but it might save this kids life.

But already they were heading away from the sirens, the boy wasn't just afraid of him, it was police as well. (Maybe he created a minor felony; in this neighborhood it might have been more… I can't expect a kid to have more common sense than the adults here. He's not going to stop. I've got no choice…) Batman reached down and pulled out a throwing star, (If I can throw it by him he might drop to avoid getting hit, I can catch him if he stops... don't slip kid… aim… aim…!) The metal bat whizzed past the boy's ear, the boy yelped, fell into a puddle.

In moments batman was covering him, he pulled the kids face out of the water. "Calm down! I need to treat you, you might be—"

Something hit him from behind with stunning force, sending Batman sprawling into a wet corner. He managed to land on his hands and flip onto his feat; the water made the street like Ice and one foot slid out from underneath him, sending him down onto his knee. The boy screamed, croaked. Batman sprang forward, it was dark, and the figure was hard to make out, but it was there. His fist connected with its jaw, sending it crashing back.

Dropped a second time the boy did not rise but lay gasping and trembling in the water. Batman bent over him, keeping his eyes on his shadowed opponent.

One hand deftly drew a fresh syringe from a hidden slip, another moment caught the boys arm and saw it administered. Batman rose and stepped over him. His horse voice held a growl, "Get out of here, seek treatment."

The kid staggered to his feat and made tracks as best he could.

High above them all the last streak of lightning lit the sky; in the distance a police commissioner sent out a thank you to the cities masked vigilante.

No one received it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: **Thank you for all your reviews! This chapter took some thinking around and I'm not sure how well the time-line's going to work out. I think, given the content of the upcoming chapters that it will be a necessary evil. Cookies for everyone of course, and apple cider. Why? Because I love apple cider. (my apologies to anyone who may be allergic to apples, please just have a cookie. In response to a few... responses:  
Minerva's Cat: I'm glad that you like! Gordon is a character who's grown on me over the years and it's fun doing things with him.  
SurrealxChaos: Thanks for the compliment! I've been working on my style and I think it's finally drawing together.  
u-ne-korn: I apologize for misspellings. I just never get them all, but spellcheck makes the world go round. Grammar can get weird with me, usually when I'm trying to get a feeling through. I'll keep your points in mind, (but the grammar might stay kinda strange.)  
To everyone else: Thank you for your encouragement and excitement! I'm having fun, I hope you're having fun, and that's all that matters.

Please comment, I want to know what you think! ((And besides, I need suggestions for quotes at the top of the chapters. If they relate to the chapter, I'll use them.)) Read and review and goodnight!

* * *

_"Gotham needs a hero with a face." Batman_, The Dark Knight

**Chapter One**  
_Commissioner Gordon, the 17th of August_

"Stevson I need that report on the arson attempts near the Narrows! Barbrack keep an eye on the Elson case, that girls been missing two days already and we need to find her soon if we want to accomplish anything! And Mcoyle, for God's sake hurry with the filing, we've got another call that just came in and you're going to need the desk space!" This wasn't the busiest the Police station had ever been, but it wasn't a slow day by any stretch of the imagination either. Commissioner Gordon had been facing the brunt of it; MychellElson's parents had been calling every hour on the hour and demanding to speak with him. Damned if he wasn't doing his best, but there were so few leads at the moment that the case was almost dead in the water.

The Arson attempts, attempts because only 3 of twenty had been successful, were also hogging a position of importance. A low street gang was suspected but there wasn't enough proof yet to move in. Things had just been piling up over the past few days… and that worried him. When things piled up in meant that the streets were getting lax, falling back on old habits. That meant that the dark wings of the law were passing over them without touching. Where was Batman?

There'd been no contact with him since the containment of the viral epidemic in the Narrows. It hadn't seemed like something worth concern at first, but there was an unease gnawing at the back of his mind, a certainty that he would have heard from him by now, or seen him, or received a response to the message that night…

But there had been nothing, and the paperwork just kept piling up. (Where are you Batman…? What are you doing out there? There shouldn't be anything big on the streets, these things can't keep happening one after the other! There's an entire world for things to go wrong in for God's sake… it can't all happen here. If it was something as big as the outbreak you would have contacted me… wouldn't you?) Gordon leaned against a desk, took a few calming breaths. (Oh no…)

The phone was ringing again, he knew it was for him.

"Commissioner Gordon," officer Stevsonheld his hand over the mouth piece, "phone for you. It's the Elson's again. You want me to say you're out on a case?"

Gordon considered it, nodded. "There's nothing more I can tell them. Re-assure them we're working on it round the clock. Tell them that calling only slows things down over here as well, they might believe it coming from you. We'll call them the moment we know something."

"Right sir." Stevson took his hand of and put the phone to his ear. "I'm sorry Mrs. Elsonbut the commissioners out working right now. I can give him a message when he gets back, but I have to tell you…"

The conversation faded into background noise as Gordon made his way out onto the street. He needed to stretch his legs, get a moment to think and be able to hear it. Cars whizzed by the building, cabs honked and pedestrians shuffled across an intersection. This building was new to him; the last headquarters were destroyed by the Joker, forcing them to move into new, (and smaller,) accommodations. They were purchasing the rights to expand into the building behind them but until that was approved things would remain cramped and crazy. He sighed, leaned against the white bricks. There was a lot of adapting they were all shouldering, Gotham was in a state of unrest, and faith in the police was lower than he had ever known it to be. Everything was being built again from the ground up. In a world with Harvey Dent they could have bounced back faster. In a world with Harvey…

The night in the wreckage haunted him in his sleep. The fire, gods it had been so hot… and the desperate search for Rachel that he knew would end in failure the moment the flames died down. Then Harvey madness, and his family… how close he had come to losing them, how close he had been to loosing the most important confrontation of his life…  
He could feel the strains on his mind from the experience when he tried to work in that tiny office. He was a resilient man, you had to be to work law enforcement in Gotham city, but that night and the days prior had been a test he had only barely passed.  
Harvey, who had more hope for the city than any of them had been utterly destroyed. Batman, the hero Gotham needed so desperately; the one who had made Dent's rise in position possible was now marked as a murderer. Only he himself had gained, only he had emerged blissfully unscathed and wiser for the experience. So many times he could have died, and several times since he'd wondered why he didn't ask himself if it might have been better if he had. Well, what If he had died instead of Rachel and Harvey where would Gotham be now?

Those morbid thoughts passed him by, he refused to humor them. Harvey was gone, Rachel was gone, his predecessor was gone. He would step up in their absence as best he could, try to re-assure Gotham that the dawn Harvey had promised them was still coming, only a few hours further away than they had believed. Not an optimist but not a pessimist, he was a hopeful realist. Maybe he'd grown too old for the other two options while working this job. Of course it could havenothing to do with the job at all, Mcoyle was the biggest pessimist he'd ever met. Almost. (…Fine, Mcoyle holds the title alongside Kenrith. It's no wonder they run their beats together. A regular depressing duo.)

A fresh wave of city smells passed his nostrils, drawing his attention back to the street. Someone was selling hot dogs on a corner nearby, car exhaust wafted, the air still smelled moist from all the rain they'd been having. The brightly colored blur of life passing by did wonders for his tired spirits; people were amazing. The people of Gotham, upper class, middle, lower, they moved in and out of the scene for their 15 seconds of impersonal fame in his life.  
Oh it was nice to have the virus quarantine over. The streets had been eerily empty while it stood imposed, you could walk for blocks at rush-hour and never see a soul. Gotham had practically become a new age ghost town overnight. Not a change he'd liked.

Thinking of the quarantine drew his mind back unwillingly upon itself; Batman's absence worried him again. He tried to push it away, sighed as the nagging unease resurfaced. (Batman,) he told himself, (will show up when he's ready to, there's never been any sense in waiting for him. Besides, not seeing him is a good thing, has been before. Withany luck he's busy working the same cases I am. …Maybe I should give the Elson family his number…) That pulled a smile and a chuckle out. (He'd probably let her talk then disconnect her. Then she'd call me again and complain about him as well…) Gordon's smile faded. (There's nothing to say to her we haven't already said. I understand her position, anyone would sympathize, I'd be frantic myself, but her constant calls don't make the kidnapper clumsier. I have to be more worried about the child then about her next call.)

She'd called so often and given so much information that he knew more about her daughter then some of his own relatives. He knew her shoe size, her hair length, that she hated to brush it and only allowed her mother to do it with a pink comb. He knew she'd learned to swim at age 4, that her next birthday was in two months, twenty seven days and… 5 hours now. She could sing and dance, and liked puppies, and rode a bike with green ribbons her father had tied to her handlebars. She loved vanilla, hated carrots and wanted to be a scuba diver/spacewoman/adventurer when she grew up.  
If she grew up.  
He knew that the parents had learned she was missing when the neighbors told them that they'd run over the bike as they backed into their driveway beside the alley, that her favorite bear was still strapped into the wicker basket with its little helmet… she'd never leave it behind, they said.

The images sent a shiver down his spine. He'd seen a lot of things in his years on the police force but he still hated, more than anything else, when a situation involved kids.

"Commissioner Gordon?"

Gordon turned to the voice, recognizing it before he saw the face. "Ramirez? I haven't seen you around since—"

"Since the outbreak?" Former Detective Ramirez closed the last bit of distance between herself and the station. "Everyone was busy Commissioner, I take it you and your family were unaffected?"

"Gordon nodded, "We were very fortunate. You're looking well also, how has life been?"

The night after the Joker was transferred to Arkham Detective Ramirez had turned in her resignation; her swollen cheek had almost concealed the turmoil in her left eye as she cried silently and accepted their goodbyes. It had been a somewhat emotional farewell for some of the officers and she became the first of several to quit the department that week. It was a high stress time, he didn't blame her or hold her leaving against her or the other men who signed out.  
…But he remained curious as to who had dealt her the injury he'd noted when she left.

Ramirez's blank expression twisted for a moment into the strain of suppressed emotions, her voice however was not drawn, but quiet. "My Grandmother passed away. She…"

Gordon sighed, "Oh… I see… I'm sorry to hear that Ramirez, she'd been in and out a lot before this and, well I'm sure it was hard on you." He shook his head, "Was it peaceful?"

Her eyes pinched at the ducts, trapping the tears. "Yes commissioner, she slept through it. I couldn't have asked for more. Thank you for asking."

Gordon held his pity so he wouldn't pressure her with it, she'd been through enough. He looked back to the station briefly. "Listen, I've got to get back inside, we've got our hands full this week. If you want to drop in…"

She shook her head. "No… I was just passing by and saw you standing there. Thought I'd say, hello."

"I appreciate that."

"…"

The Station door banged open, officer Barbrack ran out, looked about frantically for a moment before he spotted them. "Commissioner we've got a lead! Someone spotted a child's shoe down in a gutter near the narrows, it matches the size and description of the victims!"

Gordon took the stairs two at a time, Ramirez forgotten. "Who called this in?!"

"Jhonson was doing a sweep of the area and it caught his attention. He thinks it happened recently, the gutters damp but the shoes almost dry."

"Alright, let's move in on this! Get two cars ready to go down, we'll see if there's a trail from there! Tell Jhonsongood work, and tell him to stay at the scene. I'll be going down with the cars."

"Understood Commissioner."

The bustle became excited, two squad cars pulled around the front, three officers headed down to them. Gordon followed, headed for the second car. His eyes were bright, his face determined. From the sidelined Ramirez watched with longing. This life was behind her now, she couldn't return after… no, not after…  
The cars pulled away from the curb and shot off to the Narrows.

"Good luck, Commissioner Gordon. We need it now." She continued on down the street and listened to the wailing sirens fade into the distance.

**Arkham Asylum**

Far from the warmth and life of upper Gotham slumbers another world, the world of the lost, the confused, the blind and those who see all too well. Hidden behind iron fences and watched by men in guard booths looms a testament to the mad.  
Here, deep inside the sealed building lights flickered, men armed with sedatives walked the hallways alongside nurses who regularly put pepper spray inside of hidden pockets in their uniforms. Somewhere someone moans, somewhere else someone whimpers in their sleep. A wide community room holds a stimulating game of Bingo and a deep debate about god.

He is here.

Oh yes… he is here.

He is in the bricks and in the light bulbs making them flicker, in the swaying hips of a nurse and plastered underneath a table. He was in a magical rainbow that no one could see, and he is poking a sad girl curled up in the corner who just wants to be left alone with her friends the leapfrogs. Some of the mad talked about him often. Some claimed they knew him. Some claimed they were him. Others didn't want to think about that anymore… no time for debate when a dozen baby mice are crawling through your veins and asking you to dance with them.

One individual stood up on the bingo table and started to explain to the masses that he wasn't one of them. He proclaimed himself a golden olive branch enchanted by Hermes, the geek god of sports gear, to speak the wonders of the ancient world; sent to instruct them in scotch tape, marbles, and the maintenance of tropical fish tanks.

A guard coaxed him down with the promise of paper and crayons with which to write his mission down. When he began to devour the crayons they took them away.

Farther away and deeper in, always deeper in from that well lit playground the security gets tighter and the hallways seem longer, darker. Room numbers and name-tags sit below small rectangular windows of airplane thick plexiglassre-enforced with bars. There are no chances taken down this hallway.

Here there be monsters.

Behind one of these doors a figure sleeps, limbs limp and form lank in a careless press against the wall. Rough scars trace gently along the side of seamless padding as he breathes, in, out, repeat. Eyes dart under closed eyelids, possibly dreaming, probably violent.

Somewhere down the hallway someone curses, the sound makes its way under the seam of the door. Rule number one; full proof security is never that. Full security is impossible. People fail, often. A black eye opens wearily on a white and sterile wilderness.

A soft sound eases through the padded room. A chuckle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: **Hello again everyone! Oh my gosh, I cannot get this one song out of my head and it's driving me crazy! It's "Dance with the Devil" by Breaking Benjamin and it just makes me want to write. I suppose that's good, but one of these days I would like my mind back. Thank you all for your feedback, it keeps me going! Now, onto responses to reviews.  
Amanda Saitou: I'm glad your intrigued. :) I will keep in mind your quote offer, I appreciate it. Unfortunately the quote you submitted doesn't fit this chapter, but I get the feel it will tie into one that's coming up.  
0Life-is-a-Song0: I find Arkhamfascinating personally, it's a lot of fun to play with. I'm glad it had the intended effect!  
Haladflire65 & vballmania23: More chapters are on the way, and thanks for stopping in!  
To everyone else: Thank you for your reviews! I am always eager to hear the thoughts of the readers, so please continue to keep me informed. ;) I want to know what you think, and yes, I want to know why you think it!

And so does the Joker, he always wants to know what people think... heh. We'll be seeing him soon.  
Continuing on!

* * *

_**"**You'll see, I'll show you. When the chips are down, these uh... civilized people, they'll eat each other." Joker_, The Dark Knight

**Chapter Two  
**_Batman, the 14th of August_

Water was dripping from an unseen pipe, falling into the pool on the brickwork floor of an abandoned storeroom. Crates with rotting cloth goods gathered dust unmolested in a shady corner. The floor was submerged by tepid water which occasionally rippled as a lone figure fought for consciousness in a crevice under the stairs.

His wrists were tied, as were his ankles. Gloves, belt, and boots had been removed. His cape was torn and knotted around a wooden support for the steps much like a leash binding a dog to the porch. The imposing mask with its bat-like points was chipped near the mouth, but otherwise untouched. It seemed the safety catch had been enough to deter whoever had bound him here. A thick coil of chain wrapped his torso against the same support his cape was tied on, and as he leaned against it his head lolled to the side. A soft groan…  
"Uhhh…" Batman's eyes fluttered, slivered open… "Wh-what…" drifting in a daze he struggled to make out his dim surroundings, tried to move, struggled when he found himself restrained. Somewhere above his head a bell jingled, triggered somehow by his thrashing. Then the first shiver hit; he trembled to his core.

His feet and legs had locked up, so cold they were almost numb. From the hips down he was submerged. He shivered again, joints buckling up for a moment in protest before he forced them back into motion. Struggling with everything in him yielded no results; his muscles were too stiff to fully function. A few calming breaths eased the ache in his chest and allowed him to take in his surroundings with more detail. Light was very poor, but present. It was probably coming in from under the crack of the door atop the steps. The smell was… it almost defied description.

Several things came to him in sudden rapt succession. He had followed a boy, managed to administer the vaccine when… when something… something… He had no idea what it was he'd seen. It had stood a good head taller than himself, with shoulders twice as broad as his own. Every blow he'd landed had knocked the thing back, but it could take it, and came on stronger and stronger…(wait…) Batman shook his head to clear it. (That wasn't what happened at all…) It was a man, not much larger than himself. They'd fought in the rain with the footing below terrible, he'd managed despite that to get in some good blows, but then the man took one of his fingers between his fangs and…

And what? Bit it off? With fangs? (But…) one by one Batman tested them. All ten fingers responded.

No, that wasn't right either. (Why can't I just remember…) It was raining… the ground was slippery… (It was a man, no larger than myself. We fought, I… I must have lost. How?) They struggled, they fell, it was wet and very, very cold… (I must have seen his face.) Something surfaced, swam in and out of perspective, but just as suddenly it was gone again and his mind was awash in disturbing images. Dark hands seemed to rise out of the water, tug at him, trying to drag him down and drown him. His breaths hitched as he focused on them, watched them writhe and then explode into black flowers. (I've been drugged, there's no other explanation. I'm hallucinating… This is almost… almost… Oh God.) His eyes shut. (Oh no…)

The boy had run.  
Run as though Batman had been some indescribable horror.  
The boy had been fast, but reckless.  
The boy had been hallucinating as well.

He was sure of it, and more so every moment he considered it. Deep in the Narrows Crane's fear toxin was still on the market. The boy had been exposed. Now, somehow, so had he. It was the only thing that made sense in the situation. (I have to get out of here. Depending on my level of exposure I might be…) He struggled again, cursed under his breath. He tried relaxing instead, tried to limply slide out of the chains and was thwarted by the discovery of his capes hold on his neck. (This is a thorough job. Mob? No, not the mob… They wouldn't leave me alive. Then who..?) He shivered again, his chest felt tight. (I need to contact Alfred.) He took a few, steadying breaths.

"Password; Alfred's lecture. Activate long range unhanded voice communicator; establish connection to location, Home."

The small microphone was either damaged or the technology it connected to had suffered, the familiar static of the communicators activation failed to fill his left ear. (Of course…) He was on his own, with no idea to his location or even the exact chain of events that had lead to this state. He needed to wait for his captor to make themselves know.

_((All alone in the dark? That's, uh… that's an unwise pre-dicamentto play with in this part of town.))_

Batman's eyes widened. "You…"

_((Oh, oh I'm hurt. You've hurt me now, Batman. You almost sound as though you aren't pleases to see me. And after I worked so hard to find you...))_ Laughter filled the wet space, echoed off the walls. It rose, louder, inhumanly piercing and; gods, it was coming closer, closer…

"When did you get out of Arkham! Why hold me here!"

At the savageness of Batman's tone the sound abruptly stopped. But no one answered him.

No one else was there.

**Gotham  
**_Commissioner Gordon the 21st of August_

Gotham was burning tonight.  
At least it seemed so, with trash cans and dumpsters ablaze all across the city. The Narrows were lit up like a torch.

The riot that had started all of this had been impossible to contain, try as the police force had. Gordon had seen the warning signs but failed to anticipate the explosive force bubbling in the hearts of the civilians. Too many crises had occurred in too short a time, the people of Gotham had been close to the breaking point. Tonight they had broken.

It had all begun with a televised broadcast meant to be a shout-out to the Backstreet Snatcher, as the papers had taken to calling him. The individual who had kidnapped the Elson child struck again as Gordon and his men searched the scene in the narrows, making off with young Tom Leifter, age 4, as he played in his fenced in backyard. Then another child was reported missing, a Mary Greenspoon, age 5, and her younger sister May, only 3. Four missing children and four panicked families drew a lot of media attention; the press ate into it like pigs at a trough. As the police force desperately searched for new leads they were interrupted at work by reporters, confronted by friends of the families. The small clues they managed to find in the madness all pointed back to the narrows.

But the Narrows had become its own world, and they were powerless to penetrate it.

At 7:45 that evening concerned parents with their family and friends had gathered in front of the news station with candles and tried to appeal to the kidnapper over live television. They pleaded for the return of the children, emphasizing their innocence and love of life. The scene drew spectators as the program aired until at 8:23 a mob had formed outside the radio station. Who knows who started what followed next, and who could say how it spread so quickly, but the peaceful and tearful cries of loved ones turned into the roaring of a monster. The situation began to spiral, the group grew belligerent, and soon the blame was flying. The Mob was blamed, the Police were blamed, the parents were blamed and finally, of course, the Batman was blamed.

Eager for a scapegoat to carry their misfortunes the chants of blame spread up and down the streets. Soon fires were lit in trashcans; this led to fires in dumpsters, and that led to throwing flaming projectiles at the police cars as officers tried to quell the riot. Looting began and millions of dollars worth of damage was done as stores were stripped and people ran amok in the streets. Graffiti and fistfights occurred periodically as the chaos spread, the police force too short handed to manage this alone called in for outside help. The help arrived, but the crowd was incensed and the backup was unable to make their way to where they were needed most.  
And then… as if it wasn't all enough, the riot strayed onto the territory of the very street gang that Gordon and his men had been investigating for the arson attempts. When the public threatened the gang members the gang opened fire on them. Twenty four civilians died on that corner alone, another 56 were injured either by bullets or the stampede that followed.

Estimates were still being made for the full extent of dead and injured, but numbers were not expressive enough for the suffering he had seen this night. Numbers took away the faces. Commissioner Gordon put his head in his hand and tried to come to terms with the impossible.

It was all caving it, it was all sliding back into the madness that Gotham had been in before the Batman began cleaning up the city and giving the people hope. But Batman wasn't here to save the day tonight, or put the gang members behind bars, or find those missing children…  
Batman was gone.

The streets were getting darker, the mob was more active, god… all the symptoms of the return of decay and he'd needed to wait until tonight to accept what he'd known all along. Something had gone terribly wrong that night in the Narrows, something had… he didn't want to think about it. What could stop Batman? That man had more drive than anyone he'd ever seen and the strength of a demon! (…What do I do?) Someone had to find the vigilante, and soon. Every minute that passed now was one less Batman could possibly have. (I should have started looking sooner… but I can't…) Gordon knew that were the truth be told at the moment there was nothing he could do.

Not only did he lack clues but he lacked the manpower and resources to mount a manhunt to find him. No cop in the city would stand behind him if he went after Batman with rescue in mind, policy was to shoot on sight. He couldn't do it alone. He needed help. (But who? Anyone who would have considered it is gone now, we've lost so many cops… and I can't take anyone off the search for the kidnapper or the hunt for the gang now, not after tonight. There's no one who has any interest in this man except me. No one else cares what happens to Batman now. He made sure of that, He…)

Gordon's eyes grew wide. (He…)

"Commissioner Gordon?" High heels tapped against the floor, sounding out of place in the cramped station. Someone knocked on his office door. "Commissioner?"

Gordon turned, eyes widened further in surprise. "Ramirez? What are you doing here at this hour?"

She looked around, making sure none of the other officers were paying attention to her. Satisfied that they all had their hands full she came into his office, closed the door. "I'm sorry to bother you tonight, I saw the riot on the news… until the camera men were trampled."

Gordon sighed. "I had the misfortune to see it in person. What can I do for you?"

Her back resting against a wall for there was nowhere to sit, she looked away, seemed to gather her thoughts. "…After we spoke several days ago I… you know what they say, don't you Commissioner? About old habits holding on? I've been looking around in the Narrows; I know it's not my business but… with children involved…"

Gordon stood, feeling awkward sitting if she couldn't. "Say no more, I understand. You could come back Ramirez…"

She jerked her chin up and stared at him, shook her head, looked away again quickly. "No… no I can't. Listen, I don't want to talk about that. Earlier this morning I was down there poking about without prompting trouble and I found something. I think you should see it."

Gordon felt his spirits lift; "Something on the kids?"

Her spirits fell at the hope in his voice. "Sorry Commissioner, not on them." She moved forward, placed a paper grocery bag on Gordon's desk. "This is something else."

Disappointed, but curious as to what was important enough to warrant another visit when Ramirez was obviously uncomfortable Gordon took the bag. He opened it. For a few moments he didn't understand what he was looking it. It was almost unlike anything he'd seen before: thin and dark, metal? Plastic? Lightweight, flexible but strong…

"Oh my God." Gordon almost dropped it, his eyes rose back to Ramirez. "This is his, I'm sure of it. This came off the Batman."

Ramirez nodded, looked down at the plate in his hand. "It was pretty far in, I only found it because I got turned around in a backstreet. It was just as you see it now. The scene was clean, no signs of a struggle, at least not that I could see. The Narrows is always a mess and there's been a lot of rain recently." She motioned back to the bag. "There's a few chips of the same material in there along with another piece, also some mesh which I imagine holds it all together. The edges of the mesh are rough, something tore into it, something jagged, or at least serrated."

"Someone attacked him?"

"It's possible, or he tore it off on something sharp." Her eyes turned to the window through which the flickering light of a thousand fires distantly danced. "…This wouldn't have happened tonight…"

"If he was here?"

She stopped, looked back to him. "…Just what I was thinking." The warmth had left her tone, she moved to the door." I need to be getting home Commissioner. Goodnight, and… good luck." She was gone as easily as she had entered, slipping out of his office and letting the door slide shut behind her. It was almost as if she had never been.  
But the evidence of her presence lingered behind in the firelight reflecting from the smooth sides of the broken armor. Gordon sucked in a breath, knees going weak… he sank down and let it out with a sigh. He had no one to turn to, Ramirez had made it plain she would have no further investment in this with her abrupt departure. He was alone.

Somewhere out there so was the man who had given Gotham so much. Alone, probably hurt, possibly…

He couldn't leave him. He couldn't throw in the towel before he'd even begun to try.

He'd find him, had to find him. He owed the man his son's life and the cities sanity. Well, what was left of it.

Only one other could be of any use to him now.

One person knew the Batman well enough to find him, he might know...

That man, that monster.

Him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: **Hello Everyone! It's been a busy few days on my part with much excitement, because I am one step closer to a College goal of mine! (To get a decent night's sleep...) If I should be so lucky. Good to see you all stopping in and I finally have the next chapter for you! It's going to be fun. XD By the way, as always, I own nothing and I make no money. No Money! Sadness...

Now It's time for my responses to the reviews. Yay response time!  
To...  
memyselfandi89: Your comment made me smile and laugh so hard... heheheh. I also love it when things go wrong.  
Green Jewels: Thank you for the compliment on the Arkham scene! And for your suggestion which, believe it or not... I don't understand. "A greater economy with words would improve the flow." That sounds like great advice! what do you mean by economy though? Is it that I should use more variations in the word department, or less and be more consistent? I feel silly for not grasping this so if you or anyone else can clear this up for me I'll appreciate it. :)

_By the way, thank you so much for your recent review! I had 2 versions of this chapter and the one I uploaded was, accidentally, the unedited version that "coincidentally" inspired this entire story. For that reason it suckethed over. I have since corrected my mistake. Accept my apologies. :)  
On the __italics V.S the parenthesis I see your point, that is the proper way to do it. I however always found that (this) helped to focus my attention in, and that always made me think of going (into) an persons mind. Besides that I'd have to go back and revise all 3 preceding chapters. I will keep it in mind, but this is something I probably won't change.  
And lastly, thank you for the economy explanation! I was almost right. I will try to apply that in the future._

DXRULES103: I agree, the two of them working together will be rickety at best. It kind of all depends on how amused Gordon can keep the Joker, and how intent the Joker is on locating Batman.  
SaJi: I love this! X3! that made me smile. And yes, let him play, Co-missioner.  
To everyone else who reviewed: Thank you for your continued attention and support! I hope to see more of all of you!

I must inform everyone that progress may slow down a little not due to schoolwork and the revisions I'm conducting of some of my older work, but please keep checking in because I will be!

Read, enjoy, and review because I want to know what you think! Alright, moving on!

* * *

_"Introduce a little anarchy, upset the established order..."_ Joker, The Dark Knight

**Chapter Three  
**_Joker & Commissioner Gordon_

(It's all… part of the plan...)

The lights are always dim down the halls where the truly dangerous inmates of Arkham are maintained. Is faulty wiring to blame? That's certainly possible since these halls are the deepest set in the structure. The building was old even when it was new to its current purpose in the world; old enough and strange enough to have bad wires, or supposedly be haunted…  
But he didn't believe in ghosts. No, not ghosts, or gods, or angels or devils, no. That's not to say there aren't any there, in a building like Arkham they very well could be. But if they were, if, they were strangers at the Joker's table of war. Therefore until they stepped forward and introduced themselves they would not be noted.

His face paint had been smudged away by now; the staff had made sure of that. It had unnerved them, disturbed them, made them stare too long to notice the small dangerous motions he was capable of. One would think that from working in a madhouse they might have grown wise to some of his behaviors. (Ah… no.)  
And so the paint had been removed; but the smile… that lingered.

In the solitude his mind was drifting freely, looping in on itself. (Part of the plan… Hah. No it isn't, no, it isn't. There's never really a plan. You see plans, plans… they're dangerous things. You put faith in them, you rely on them, depend on them, worst of all make other plans around them. Then, if something doesn't go 'according to plan' it's a crisis! People get upset! People break down! And let's just face it; life's too short for being that serious.)

He could hear the guard's nervous shuffling outside the door, he could hear… hmmmmm… yes, two people coming down the hall towards his cell. They sound rushed, (why rush? This building might well be where all time originates before it's loaned out to the rapidly swelling human population.

I don't do plans, I prepare for them. A person like me can always trust other people to make reasonable plans and then, then it's the easiest thing in the world to warp them, stretch them... I'm good at working with what I'm given.  
For example i've got a few magic tricks, nothing fancy, but oh! You'll die when you see them.  
Humanity doesn't yet grasp that being ingenuitive, being creative and spontaneous, it's much more important than keeping to a schedule. If something goes "wrong" it's no skin off my back, it's just another twist in "The Plan." Now do I, do I really look to anyone like someone who's interested in making sense? It's not that I can't do that, sense tends to force itself onto the best of us so it's often hanging somewhere around me… But people… people… People always seem so shocked by these ideas. It does make sense. Everything does. I'm not here to point that out, they find it themselves if they want to. I'm not a babysitter. ) He let his chin rest against the vest. (I am bored-bored-bored! I am bored out of my mind.)

Some of those 'ignorant people' are looking at him now through the glass of his door. Yes, there's two of them. (It's nice to be right when the world remains wrong… waning philosophical again, hm? That's dangerous… very dangerous.) He would acknowledge them further if he had the means but they remain outside, and he in. Still, hope springs eternal…

(People… you see, listen, people always try to look at things logically. You're brainwashed early on to have a herd mentality, monkey see and do. Then, oh then you're told that you're a person, not an animal, so you can't do things. Forget the hypocrisy that the system's already turned you into lambs up for slaughtering; you're already stool pigeons and lap dogs, but you're not 'animals.' Sometimes I think if people spent one hour a day, just one, doing what they actually want to do, without the fear of someone else hitting them with a newspaper--well… the whole world might change.)

The door opens… he doesn't watch it happen. No reason to make his guest uncomfortable during this oh so auspicious first visit.  
He allows the visitor time to take in his surroundings, the walls, the ceiling light, the smell… he can't be held accountable for that. It's hot as hell in here. Some attention is paid to the bolted down table in the therapy room. That failure of a writing surface is an unforgivable eyesore.

More foam and padding has probably been wasted on that monster then a typical person finds insulating their attic.

(But you aren't interested in that anymore, are you sir? No, you can pay attention to me now; that is why you're here. Let's move on to something more important. This is your first visit, I, wonder, why? Ah, but where are my manners…)

"Evening, Co-missioner."

The Police Commissioner came further into the cell and took a seat on an amazingly padded chair.

The asylum had padded that chair and its partner for the same reason they'd padded the room and the table. This was a recent change made on account of an increase in violence that had occurred in the space. 'Who knew?' that you could take a chair, one that couldn't even be moved from its place on the floor, and do… Actually, there probably wasn't a term for what had occurred to the guard on that chair. There should be. There wasn't.

The Joker studied his company, taking in the details to form an assumption for what might follow. (Let's see… You dislike me so this isn't a friendly call. I'm not offended by the way. I'm almost fond of you, actually, since you keep an eye on my Bat for me. I appreciate help where I can get it. But back to you sir… back to you. It's been a long night, hasn't it? Your shoulders are down and your mouth is tight… I'll tell you to smile more before you leave. Doesn't it take fewer muscles in the face to smile then frown? I heard that somewhere an age ago, it seemed… profound. Smiling is another thing people don't understand. Smiling can be the hardest thing a person ever does, if certain circumstances come into play.  
And they really do come into play all too often. I'm distracted again. Why are you here? Tell me, tell me, tell me! Hah! I'm all ears… well say something.

It's rude to sit and stare.

Is this about Harvey-harvey-Dent?

Is it the scars?)

Commissioner Gordon finally acknowledged the clown. "Hello Joker."

Now both men were studying each other. Commissioner Gordon could see that the clown's smile had stretched somewhat, a calculating gleam shone in the psychopath's eyes. He lets the silence linger a little longer, it will be easier for him to make his points if the Joker's paying full attention. Like a game of wills without a referee they continued to stare each other down.

The Joker's smile widened further, (I wonder if you're thinking of the last time we sat across from each other like this. I am, of course I am, that memory's going to keep my spirits up many a dark and dreary day.)  
He leans forward. "…So… hm, how to say this..? You look tired, and I, I'm wide awake. With that in mind I'd appreciate if we could move this along. I've got an appointment with a sedative and a laundry fresh strait jacket that can't wait. You can smell for yourself."

Gordon shows no response to the statement. "I think it can wait."

"You've got my interest."

The commissioner braces, "I'm going to need a lot more than that."

This amuses the Joker. He stands, begins to move around the table..."Oh? Do tell. But, Commissioner..." He leans forward, eyes cold suddenly though no darker than before. "I hope this has something to do with something, uh… "interesting." you are interrupting my vacation. I don't often do warnings, you know, so keep this moving. Keep my attention."

Commissioner Gordon tells himself again that he is prepared for the task at hand. (He's only one man, I can convince one man to do something that needs to be done.) Failure was not an option tonight. "This is about Batman and it involves everyone, including you. He's missing."

The Joker's shoulders rise, his back stiffens. Little question exists that these words have had an impact on the madman. His hands remained still; probably because they are bound to his chest. Through a rip in the jacket the pinky of the left hand is exposed, it taps against the binding fabric almost like a twitch.

There is no smile on that face anymore. The Joker's voice is suddenly rough, grating,"…Missing? How can you be sure? I wasn't aware you kept such close tabs on each other, and I should have been, I should have been... You're going to make the rest of us jealous, Co-missioner. I, I don't think you want that--"

What followed came so quickly that Gordon could hardly believe he'd seen it. The Joker jerked violently forward and writhed in his restraints, the left hand and the arm attached to it seized and an ungodly sounding crack came from the attached shoulder. It almost seemed the limb slithered out of the fabric, the angle it pulled back with was unnatural and twisted. Just like that the arm was free and it shot out through the neck hole and stretched between them, grabbed Gordon by his tie.  
The Joker pulled him in close; breathed into his face, "--you really don't!"

"Joker I'm warning you--!" Gordon had instinctively grabbed for the fabric, the Joker instinctively tightened it. It hugged Gordon's neck like a noose. Another threatening 'tug' convinced the officer not to move his hands.

"No, what you are doing is stalling for time. They…" the clown jerked his head to the door. "…won't help you. Someone has to run and fetch the bigger sedative gun, and then they aren't coming in until I stop twitching. Bad luck for you my friend for this is not your day! Now…" His eyes returned to Gordon's own, "We've bought ourselves some time, to get… better acquainted! And I think we should take full advantage of it." The grip on Gordon's tie faltered, a tremor shook the arm that held it.

For a moment the Joker seemed surprised, as if he'd forgotten that the limb in question had been compromised when he freed it.

So had the Commissioner to his embarrassment.

As both considered this the Joker chuckled, brushed it off like a foolish conversation starter. "Opps. 'Excuse me,' I need to fix this."

With no further warning he threw his weight backward on the tie and it tightened drastically.

Gordon reached for it gagging, eyes wide with his shock. The Joker used the time to draw a foot back and kick the commissioner's legs out from under him.

Head back thrown back and neck arched the Joker hissed, groaned, laughed, and rammed his side against the padded wall to pop his shoulder back into place. With that done deft fingers trembling from jammed nerves untied his other arm so that he could remove the oppressive jacket. By now Gordon had loosened the tie enough that he could breath, and he did, taking in deep, shaky gulps. The madman reached down with his right hand and offered the officer a little assistance.

Gordon looked disbelievingly at the outstretched fingers and palm, looked up with that same expression into the Joker's face.

On that face a small pout formed as if the clown was offended, offended that Gordon had decided not to accept his help.

Shoving away the ludicracy of the situation Gordon re-composed himself, reined in his anger and disbelief. He needed the madman's cooperation damn it all, despite the risks involved. This would be the first of many decisions to haunt his sleep in the coming days. He took the hand.

With a wide smile the Joker pulled the Commissioner to his feet, brushed off some imaginary dust from the front of his coat with the back of his hand. Behind the smile the wheels were turning. (Interesting responses, Co-missioner, interesting...) He released the officer and moved back around the table to his seat. He wanted to hear more about Batman, torturing the other man further would have to wait. (I wouldn't have trusted myself not to drop you. Maybe I should have, it would have been funny! That's another problem with the world today incidentally; people find it so hard to trust each other.) He looked across the table through the small window and out into the hall. Frightened guards looked back at him. (They're so slow tonight… where is the fool with the gun? Taking a piss?) He waved to them cheerfully, they responded not as happily by gaping and backing away from the door. (What is this? I can't be the only one in Arkham who tries to strangle their guests! That would be… that would be absolutely insane!)

Turning is mind back to the matter at hand he sat down, motioned for Gordon to do the same. "How long has the Bat been gone."

Gordon, seeing him sitting took his seat as well. "Possibly ten days. Given the circumstances of his comings and goings I didn't feel confident it was more than his usual business, until now."

The Joker tilted his head, his eyes narrowed speculatively. "Until now? What changed, what's your theory? Did he get tired of your giant-flashlight-leash? He might prefer, ah… a phone call."

Gordon was not amused, he held the Joker's gaze. "When I last saw him, this was ten days prior to tonight, he was going out into the narrows to continue the rescue efforts. There was a breakout of a bio-virus in Gotham and the narrows were hit particularly hard. Men are still going in and bringing people out, it was a crisis. I think he was infected in the narrows that night and unable to return."

"You didn't answer my question. Why do you think he's missing 'Now.'"

"An civilian found pieces of black heavy-grade armor for the wrist and shoulder in the narrows yesterday. They don't resemble anything I've ever seen, anywhere, except on Batman."

This news was immensely displeasing to the inmate, his hands fisted on the table."…Wait. You, you aren't making sense. You say, "I think he's sick in the narrows." I say "Why." You say, "because we found pieces of his armor." Oh I see! But I have to tell you Commissioner; if you think a virus strips a person as they infect them you could use a vacation yourself… Even I, even I haven't heard that one before. There's an open suit just down the hall." There was more than a bit of biting sarcasm, it hid unease. What out there, save himself, could do something like that to Bats?

Who the hell was moving in on his business!

Gordon remained unmoved by the tangent, hiding his own irritation. "The Narrows are dangerous at the best of times. It's possible that Batman was attacked and infected by the attacker, possibly someone he was trying to help. That would explain the armor. Or he could already have been sick, fallen from a roof, broke it off on the street. Anything could have happened to take that armor off."

"No… it couldn't. No it couldn't. That's high grade fiber weave and those pieces are re-enforced. That armor won't ever just, 'come off.' Do your homework." The Joker's shoulders had tightened again, and Gordon watched him carefully, prepared to move backwards.

He wished for the second time that night that he had his gun, but knowing the man before him it probably wouldn't do him much good.

The Joker continued, "Batman went into the narrows to rescue viral victims. The Narrows are infected. Most people can't hold their own in a fight with a stomach virus. I'm assuming this is worse than that, and… the best of the bat. This virus is treatable?"

Gordon nodded, "Yes, we have a low grade vaccine that prevents the worst of the symptoms."

"Then the Bat went in already immune to the brunt. He's at the top of his game, maybe. No one in the narrows attacked him while he was helping them; they weren't in the shape to. Someone from outside the Narrows could have tried, Maybe. Fallings not even worth thinking of. The only thing you're right about is that you've misplaced the caped crusader. Now…" His tongue slipped out, wet the side of his lips. "Why tell me?"

Gordon took a deeper breath. (And now we come to it. )  
"Joker…"  
(Because I know that you can find him, because you know him better than we do, because police policy is now to shoot him on sight, because I've got no other choice.)  
"…Gotham needs Batman, even if she doesn't want to admit it. You've removed all my other options. Because of Harvey…"  
(God damn you- you sick, sadistic clown.)

"…The Bat is a wanted fugitive to four counts of murder, three counts of kidnapping, bla, bla, bla… yes, I know." The clowns smile had twisted; it was both satisfied and amused. "He does keep me entertained, I didn't think Bats would take the blame for dear Harvey-harvey Dent's little brush with reality. That's going to haunt him for a bit, wouldn't you say? But back to me, Commissioner."

"You can find him." Gordon leaned forward.

"No I can't." The Joker mockingly leaned back.

"You can't..?" This wasn't an issue Gordon had imagined, the Joker couldn't find him? Wait… "You're lying!"

The clown sighed. "No really, I can't. See?" He motioned to the room, "I'm still on vacation."

Gordon closed his eyes, swallowed. "…What if you weren't?"

"…" The Joker leaned forward, reached out across the table and made a sudden grab for the other man's coat.

Gordon pulled back so quickly that he almost lost his seat, the joker cackled uproariously for a few moments as if he'd never seen anything so novel, giggled as the laughter subsided. "Why, Co-missioner…" His eyes captured the others mans, and held them. Despite his chuckles those eyes were like the blackness that hovers at the ends of all mans hopes. "…I think there's a little bit of potential hiding in you yet."


End file.
